Bridal Party Woes
by Mistressjessica1028
Summary: AH story. Sookie Stackhouse has been asked to be the maid of honor in her best friend's wedding. There's one problem: the best man is Eric Northman a man who has had a grudge against her since college for what reason she doesn't know. Sparks fly between the two as they travel the minefield of wedding planning, deal with a bridezilla, and the wedding planner from hell.
1. Always a Bridesmaid

**Sookie's POV**

"I'm getting married!"

Those are three words that every single female of marrying age abhors hearing. You have to pretend to be happy for your friend while internally thinking "Why her and not me?" It's petty I know, but I swear it happens among all single women. Engagements are like a virus; once it happens for one couple, then all the other couples that are friends seem to fall into the same trap like dominos. It's a vicious cycle; the same thing happens with babies. When one couple becomes pregnant, it seems that all couples become pregnant around the same time. You might ask why this happens, and the answer is very simple.

Peer pressure.

When one man gives in and proposes to his girlfriend, then it puts all of his guy friends under pressure because their girlfriends want to know when they will be proposing. After all, if one of them is willing to settle down and give up his bachelor days, then it stands to reason that _all_ of them are ready to settle down and give up their bachelor days. Makes sense right?

Absolutely not.

But when weddings and babies are involved, women get tunnel vision. They can only see their wedding and babies at the end of the tunnel and anyone that stands in their way is going to be run over. From a young age, girls think up their dream wedding: the perfect dress with the perfect man. Girls are taught to think that their wedding day is the one day in their life when they get to be treated like a fairy princess with Prince Charming there to sweep them off their feet.

Sadly, not many women get their dream wedding and most men certainly are not Prince Charming. In this day and age, the average wedding costs between $15,000 and $25,000. Thousands of dollars on a wedding . . . one single day in your life . . . that's more than what my car cost and I've had my baby for three years. Hell, my relationship with my car has lasted longer than a lot of marriages I've seen.

I know I sound jaded, like a jealous bitch that can't be happy for her friend. That's not it at all. Well, that's not _entirely_ the reason. You see, I work in the wedding business. I've been a wedding Dj for the last four years. Yes, I, Sookie Stackhouse, have gone out at least once a weekend every weekend for the last two hundred eight weeks to play music at other people's weddings. Now, before you knock it, let's examine the facts of the case. I followed my older brother's footsteps and went to college at LSU; Jason went on a full football scholarship where I was a brainiac and had to pay my way through school. How is that fair?! Anyway, I wasn't one of those kids that went to college and wasted their parents' money by partying all the time and never going to class. I worked hard in school, graduated Cum Laude with a degree in teaching and was ready to make my place in the world. There was just one problem with my theory.

_Money._

Do you realize how little money the average college graduate makes when first leaving the hallowed halls of their higher education? Hell, do you know how difficult it is for a college graduate to find a job today? It used to be that if you had a bachelor's degree from any university, it would be a piece of cake to find a job. Not today. I couldn't get my foot in the door with most of the parishes in Louisiana because I didn't have any experience. How the hell was I supposed to get experience in my chosen profession when I couldn't get anyone to give me a damn interview, much less a job? It was demoralizing to realize that I'd spent four years in college to end up working back at Merlotte's Bar and Grille as a waitress. That's what I'd been doing before college, so why had I gone to school? It's not like college taught me how to be a better waitress. Can you imagine if waitressing was a college major? Would the introductory course be called 'Do you want fries with that?' or 'How do you want that cooked?'? Better yet, the courses could be taught by Ronald McDonald and Colonel Sanders. I was always partial to the Hamburglar myself; I think it was the hat and maybe the cape.

Here's the other shitty part of being a college graduate: student loans. If you are lucky, your parents have planned for your college education and you won't be saddled with the burden of paying the ridiculous amount of money that adds up from attending college. But if you're like me, your parents didn't have the opportunity to save money for college. Hell, it was a struggle for my parents to pay all their bills on time and put food on the table. We couldn't move because no one was willing to buy our house; I think the 'For Sale' sign sat in front of our house from the time I was seven until I was fourteen. Even if someone had been willing to buy our house, it's not like there were a plethora of jobs available. We grew up in an economically depressed region of Louisiana. Jason and I both had started working at a really young age so we could earn our own money; he'd done yard work while I babysat. As we got older, we worked any job we could to make money. While I used my money to pay for my clothes or tried to save it for college, Jason spent all his money on a used pickup truck, beer, and women.

So to recap, my idiotic brother went to college for free because he was one hell of a running back, barely stayed academically eligible throughout his entire college career, and he didn't even graduate college; he entered the NFL draft where he ended up being selected in the third round by New England. Jason isn't the flashiest player in the NFL, but he's managed to have a decent career under Bill Belichick. Daddy was happy he hadn't been drafted by the Cowboys or the Falcons; Mommy was happy that Jason played for a strong coach that would keep him out of trouble. I shudder to think of what kinds of trouble my brother would have gotten in had he been drafted to play somewhere like Oakland. Whereas I worked my ass off in school, graduated, and spent a year waitressing because I couldn't find a job. My student loans required that I start paying them when I had been out of school for six months. I made so little money and had so much fucking debt that I had to live at home with my parents. How demoralizing is that? You think you're going to graduate college, make your way in the world on your own two feet, or at the very least, with a snarky roommate as your sidekick. I got news for you campers; it's all a fucking lie. Fuck you Hollywood!

I finally found a job working as a middle school teacher for a school about an hour away from my parents' house. Yes, it was more money than I made as a waitress, but I still couldn't afford to live on my own. Hell, I think I made less money my first year of teaching then I did as a waitress because I spent so much money on gas and car maintenance. It was during my lunch break that my mom sent me an ad she saw on . A company was looking for disc jockeys, and they were willing to train the right person.

And that's how I came to be a mobile wedding disc jockey. It's not the most glamorous job out there, and more often than not, people treat you like you're an idiot because they think a trained monkey can play music. I have two things to say to that: first, it's absolutely hard work to get out there week after week and make sure that the most important day in a couple's life goes off without a hitch, and second, I made over $20,000 last year working as a mobile wedding disc jockey alone. That combined with my teacher's salary allowed me to move out of my parents' house to a nice apartment about five miles away from my teaching job, buy a brand new car that was more fuel-efficient and had room for all my Dj equipment, and I finally got to eat something other than Ramen noodles for a change.

How do you like me now bitch?

But I digress . . . a lot! Today, I'm having lunch with some of my closest girlfriends: Claudine, Tara, and Hadley. I feel like I've been out of the loop when it comes to my friends. It's hard to stay in touch with them when I'm always working on the weekends. This is the first time I'm seeing some of the girls in almost six months. Claudine had called asking me to join them for lunch. She really wanted to see all of us, and she was willing to plan something on any day where I was free. Since I'm usually free Sundays, we agreed to meet for brunch at a restaurant in Bossier City along the river. When we all saw each other for the first time, we'd had the typical girl reaction of high-pitched squealing and hugging. The four of us had been friends since freshman year at LSU; starting our sophomore year, the four of us lived together in a suite on campus. Tara and I were from northern rural Louisiana, Claudine was from Baton Rouge, and Hadley was from New Orleans. The four of us were drastically different in terms of background, looks, and attitude, but somehow we clicked. Tara is a beautiful mocha-colored African-American woman with long, straight black hair and big, soulful chocolate-brown eyes. She is very athletic, which is a given since she went to LSU on a basketball scholarship. Tara could have gone on to play in the WNBA if it hadn't been for her attitude. Tara is a highly intelligent woman, but she has rage issues . . . she had issues on and off the court controlling her temper. The only one that has ever been able to keep Tara's temper under control is Hadley. We all call Hadley 'Mom' because she always tries to take care of us. She is a nurturer; when we were having a bad day, she would be there with fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies or an ice cream sundae. Hadley is a wholesome, girl-next-door type: blonde, blue-eyed, exuberant, and a generally sweet person. I don't think I've ever heard her say a bad thing about anyone; not her professors, not other girls, hell, not even that good-for-nothing ex-boyfriend of hers that ran out on her when he learned she was pregnant. Hadley is the best of all of us, and the three of us have always worked together to shelter her from the injustices of the world. Sometimes we succeed, sometimes we don't. And then there is Claudine, Daddy's little princess in every sense of the word. Claudine is the daughter of a former Governor of Louisiana and a former Miss Louisiana beauty queen. Claudine followed in her mother's footsteps: cheerleader, beauty pageants, and attending LSU in the hopes of landing a rich husband to take care of her.

I think she's found it if the rock on the ring finger of her left hand is any indication. Her screamed exclamation of "I'm getting married" was accompanied by her shoving her left hand into the air that hovered over our table. She wiggles her fingers, causing the diamond to sparkle in the sunlight. We're girls; we react as girls do; more squeals and grab at her hand to look at the ring. It's everything I would have expected Claudine to have: big, flashy, and obviously cost a lot of money. I know I sound petty, but you have to understand something about Claudine. She wanted the four of us to split the cost of a maid when we lived together at LSU because she didn't know how to cook, clean, or do laundry. Everything she wore had a designer label; instead of carrying a backpack to class, she carried a vintage Chanel briefcase. We had nicked Claudine 'Cher' after Alicia Silverstone's character in _Clueless _because she _is_ Cher. But Claudine was the first one to kick off her designer pumps and wade into a catfight if it meant protecting one of her girls. We are a tight group, but Claudine is by far and away the most loyal of all of us. For some reason, Claudine is closest to me, which doesn't make any sense since we are opposites in every way. She is statuesque; I'm petite. Primped and polished are the only way she will leave the house; I run out in whatever is handy, hopefully it's clean. She's never worked hard a day in her life, whereas I've had to fight for everything I have.

So I shouldn't have been surprised when Claudine turned to me and asked, "Sookie will you be my maid of honor?"

FUCK. ME.

If 'I'm getting married' are three of the most hated words to a single woman, than "Will you be my bridesmaid?" are the five most hated words. And then to add insult to injury, you get asked to be their maid of honor . . . that position is the greatest "fuck you" from your friend. It's costly enough to be a bridesmaid – dress, shoes, hair, bridal shower, bachelorette party, etc. all are a financial burden. Most bridesmaids spend on average $500 to $1,000 on a wedding that isn't even their own! But by being the maid of honor, it's a fate worse than death to me! Not only is it a financial drain, but it will need countless hours of my time too! Dress shopping, cake tastings, dress fittings, caterer meetings, discussions of the bachelorette party and countless phone calls to discuss the most mundane and ridiculous of details. Do I prefer the lilac or lavender dress? Who gives a shit; it's all purple to me! Which flavor of cake should I pick: chocolate or red velvet? They are both chocolate!

Could lightning strike me down now and save me from having to answer Claudine? She is looking so anxiously at me and her lips are beginning to tremble the longer it takes me to make a decision. I hate that look; she's used it on me often over the years. You'd think I'd be immune to it by now. But I'm still a sucker for it and I hear myself saying, "I'd love to be your maid of honor."

Shit! I didn't mean to fucking agree to this! Claudine squeals excitedly as she leans over to hug me tightly. I have to get out of this mess and fast! There is no way in hell I want to be maid of honor for some hoity-toity high society wedding.

"Claudine, you know I'd love to be your maid of honor, but I don't have the time to devote to you and all the planning that will go into your special day. Besides, you live in New Orleans; I'm up here in Shreveport. There's no way I'm gonna be able to help you. And what about Claudette? Shouldn't she be your maid of honor? Y'all are triplets after all. Blood is thicker than water," I finish hurriedly.

Rule number one when dealing with brides: they think everything revolves around them. There is no reasoning with a bride, so if you have something unpleasant to tell them, I have found that it is best to spin the situation to make it all about them! For example, I only call my clients the Monday before their wedding. In my experience, a bride is going to change her mind a thousand times before she makes a decision. I remember I had a bride change her first dance song thirty-two times before deciding to go back to her original choice. So by waiting until the Monday before their event, I've pretty much guaranteed that the information I have is the most current and is somewhat set in stone. I have clients always asking if I can call them weeks or months before their event to discuss the details. My internal answer to that is always the same: hell no! However, the diplomatic answer is that I will call them the week of their wedding so that my attention is solely focused on them. As I point out, I do one event a week; they wouldn't want my attention focused on someone else the week of their wedding, so I cannot in good conscience do that to another client. It works nearly every time. Little do these clients realize that I am sometimes doing two events a day if not over the entire weekend. But as I said, brides tend to get tunnel vision and think it's all about them!

"Don't worry about that," Claudine hurries to reassure me. "You and Claudette will be my co-maids of honor. And my cousin Marella is going to be my matron of honor," Claudine continues blithely.

"How many bridesmaids are you having?" Tara and I exchange a worried look because this is quickly getting out of hand. Three maids/matrons of honor?!

"Including you and Hadley, seven bridesmaids, four junior bridesmaids, three flower girls, and the three maids of honor," Claudine rattles off as if she is discussing the weather. I drain my mimosa and signal the waiter for another. It's nearly eleven; is it too early for me to ask for a gin and tonic?

Claudine continues on, blissfully ignorant that she has stunned the rest of us stupid. "And there really isn't that much planning to do. I'm hiring a wedding coordinator and I have this," she says as she sets a giant book down on the table. It's so heavy it rattles the flatware against the table and causes the water in our goblets to slosh over.

Dear lord in heaven, please save me! She has a wedding binder!

After brunch that turned into lunch, and then nearly turned into happy hour, I escaped back to the solitude of my apartment. Had I pissed someone off in another life that I was being made to suffer now? Honestly, she's having seventeen bridal attendants. Who the hell does that?!

As if knowing I am sinking in the depths of despair, my cell phone rings. I groan loudly before answering: it's Claudine. I literally left her half an hour ago! What could we possible have to discuss now?"

"Hello," I say softly.

"Hey sweetie, I hope I'm not bothering you" Claudine says carelessly. Before I can tell her if she is or isn't, she continues on. "I just got off the phone with Alcide. He and I think it would be a great idea for everyone in the bridal party to meet. Give everyone a chance to get to know one another before the big day. I'll email you all the details when we get something scheduled. Okay sweetie, talk to you soon!" The call ends and I'm left staring at my phone in utter bafflement. What the hell have I gotten myself in to? Can I back out now? Maybe I can fake my death? Better yet, maybe I can go teach English in a foreign country for a year. Anything has to be better than the hell I'm about to go through.

The buzzer for my apartment rings and I wearily get to my feet. If it's another person asking me to accept Jesus Christ as my savior I may lose my shit. I still remember my neighbor telling the church member that interrupted his dinner that his god was going to kick their god's ass. The religious person had asked who my neighbor's god was and he promptly answered Ozzy Osbourne. I'm a little envious that no solicitors bother my neighbor anymore, but I'm too nice to do something like that to another human being. My Gran would come back from the grave with a switch in her hand if I was intentionally rude to someone like that.

When I look through the peephole, I'm so happy to see who is on the other side. "You read my mind," I say as I lovingly grab the bottle of Bombay Sapphire Gin that Tara had dangled in front of my peephole. She carries a bottle of Patron Tequila and a shopping bag of tonic water and limes.

"I knew your head was swimming just like mine was," Tara says as she closes the front door of my apartment. We carry our beloved friends to the kitchen. Tara takes a shot of tequila as I slice down the limes.

"How crazy do you think this shit is going to get?" Tara asks me her question as she pours herself a second shot. I've mixed my drink, adding a twist of lime and take a long swig to soothe my frazzled nerves, contemplating the best way to answer her question. Tara's come with me a few times when I've done a wedding. She too had initially scoffed at my part-time job, but by the end of the night she had a newfound respect for wedding professionals. For five hours, she had watched as I tried to keep 150 guests happy. Tara had watched as I dealt with everything, coordinating with the caterer, photographer, and videographer to make sure everything happened on time and no one missed any special events. I even had to deflect the interest from the groomsman that was trying to hit on me, and kept the ring bearer from sticking his grubby hand in the wedding cake. All of that was done in between keeping the guests dancing for two hours straight. At the end of the night, I had been rewarded with a hug from the bride and $50 bill from the groom. That had been one of my better experiences.

"On a scale of one to ten, I think we're looking at a seventeen," I say gravely and Tara snorts in response. Without saying a word, we each drain our drinks, praying for all of this to be over before it's even started.


	2. The Best Man

**Eric's POV**

"I'm getting married," Alcide announces after I tee off on the ninth hole of the golf course we are playing on. Alcide's mother and father are members of the country club, so the guys (Tray, Rasul, Stan, Maxwell, Alcide, and me) try to play at least once a month. It's been two months though since the last time we played. Real life can be a bitch like that sometimes, but it's all good. We all have jobs to worry about; some of us have girlfriends, though in Alcide's case, it's now his fiancée.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" Max and Stan share horrified looks, and I can't help but chuckle when Alcide glares warningly at them.

"We've been together for six years. I love her. It's time we settled down," Alcide defends himself.

"She threatened to leave you didn't she?" Stan cannot accept that anyone would willingly enter into the matrimonial state. To him, women are a nice distraction from his business, but he'd rather cozy up to his binary code and spreadsheets than spend a significant amount of time with a woman. I still don't understand how he attracts women. With his Coke bottle glasses, plaid button shirts, and khakis, I've never understood how Stan's been able to consistently get laid, but the ladies flock to him. Of course, it could be that he's got more money than most third world countries. Not that you would know it to look at him, but Stan had sold his first start-up company by the time he was nineteen. His second company had been sold shortly before we all graduated. Now he is working on his third company that I know he's been hinting at that Apple has been interested in buying. I don't even know what the hell a start-up company is!

"Claudine did not threaten to leave me," Alcide says hotly. "But she's been dropping hints that she wanted to get married for a while. It got worse when my sister got engaged. It was gonna happen eventually," he says with a shrug. Alcide places his ball on the tee, lines up his swing, and tees off, sending the ball flying through the air down the green.

"What is it that you guys have against me getting married?" Alcide looks perplexed at all of us and we in turn look at him as if he has eight heads. His look of confusion turns to anger as none of us speak. "Claudine is a great girl; she's been with me for years. She and I have a great life together. And she's fucking amazing in bed. Why shouldn't I marry her?"

We look at him silently before Max steps up and slaps him on the back. "We're happy for you man; you caught us all by surprise though." Each of us take a turn shaking Alcide's hand, with me being the last.

"Congrats brother," I tell him enthusiastically as we slap each other on the back in the traditional hug of heterosexual men the world over. Before I can pull away, Al grips my shoulder tightly and looks at me sheepishly.

"Would you be my best man Eric?" Alcide knows my feelings on marriage; I think it's great for other people but it's not for me. You would think since I work in the wedding business that I would be more of a romantic when it comes to weddings, but I'm not. I abhor weddings; they are nothing but a money pit. Why the fuck do you need to spend thousands of dollars on a single fucking day?! I can't complain because brides are willing to pay me thousands of dollars to shoot their wedding photos, but I think it's an absolute waste of money. The only two good things I have found about weddings are the money I make and horny bridesmaids/guests. If there is a single, relatively attractive bridesmaid in the wedding party, then it's a 95% guarantee that I'm going to get laid. What can I say? I'm a good looking guy and I spend a lot of time with these women during the day. I flirt with them as I take their pictures, and as they drink more and more alcohol, they lose more and more of their inhibitions. And no one's feelings are hurt in the morning because they all know it's a one-time thing. On a few occasions, I've hooked up with the same girl when she ends up being a bridesmaid in another wedding. My assistant, Willa, thinks I'm an absolute dog, but why should I change? I'm not hurting anybody and it's not like I'm the type to get involved in a monogamous relationship.

"Al, you know how I feel about weddings," I say quietly and he hurries to interrupt me.

"Dude I know, and I wouldn't normally ask you to do this, but Claudine asked me to ask you. She's worried what some of these other assholes," he says gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder to the other two of our foursome that are currently trying to give each other a nut tap, "will say if they have to give the best man speech. Please Eric," Alcide begs. "I'll pay for your tux and other incidentals. It won't cost you a thing."

That's not true, I think wryly. I'm sure I will be losing money because Claudine will probably pick the busiest fucking wedding date in the year. Not to mention the bachelor party, a hotel room, the gift, and other random shit that will pop up. I love him like a brother, but Alcide doesn't have a clue what a wedding costs. Granted, most grooms have a hands off approach when it comes to weddings. They wisely defer all decisions to the bride. The few instances where I've dealt with groomzillas have been a nightmare. It's taken every ounce of restraint in those instances not to punch the grooms out. I am a professional; do not tell me how to do my fucking job. I went to college for four years, work freelance for magazines and newspapers, and I even dabble in fashion photography. I do not need some asshole with an iPhone trying to tell me how to pose people or take pictures.

"I'd rather photograph your wedding Al. Hell, I'd do it for free," I say hoping to change his mind about being his best man. It says something when I'm willing to give away a $2000 photography package for free to get out of being the best man.

"I don't want you to work my wedding; I want you to be able to drink and have fun," Alcide admonishes me. "Besides I think the wedding planner has someone in mind for the photographer," Alcide admits a little guiltily.

I hate wedding planners more than groomzillas. Most wedding coordinators I have worked with have no business being in the business; they are people that do it on the side and think because they planned their own wedding that they have the knowledge to plan someone else's. I have only met a handful of coordinators over the years that are Better Business Bureau rated and actually know their shit.

"Who is Claudine going with?" I have my preferences for who I like to work with. I'm not going to try and influence who Claudine picks for anything, but I want to know that my friends aren't getting swindled.

"Sophisticated Parties, I think is the name of the company. All I know is that the coordinator scares the shit outta me," Alcide says with a shudder. "I'm afraid to tell her if I don't like something because I'm afraid she'll impale my balls on the end of her stilettos." Alcide cups his twig and berries protectively as he shudders again thinking about the coordinator. I can't help but smirk at Alcide. He isn't far off the mark; Pamela Ravenscroft, the owner of Sophisticated Soirees (a fucking pompous title if I ever heard one), is an ice bitch of the first order. She doesn't take just anyone as her client; there is an application process the prospective clients have to go through in order for her to consider working for you. I've seen her reduce brides to tears with a single glance; on one occasion, I watched her knee a groomsman in the balls for spilling beer on her shoes. No one in the Shreveport area wedding industry wants to be on her bad side; a scathing review by Pam will cause your business to wither and die. Every wedding professional and venue in the area wants to be in Pam's good graces. And I was one of the fortunate few she liked; don't ask me how that came to be. I never let her intimidate me, but I didn't kiss her ass like other professionals have. She's thrown me a fair amount of business over the years, so I'm surprised she didn't consider me for Claudine's event.

By refusing my offer to do the wedding photography, Alcide has backed me in a corner. If I agree to do this, I'm going to be miserable; if I don't agree to do this, then I risk losing a friendship that I've had since I was a freshman in college. Of course, I've seen friendships destroyed because of planning a wedding. I'm not worried about that with Alcide; if anything, I'm worried Claudine will drive me batshit crazy before this whole fucking thing is over.

"Then I guess you've got yourself a best man," I say with a wry smile. Alcide grips my hand tightly and shakes it enthusiastically.

"Thanks man; you are a lifesaver," Alcide says with obvious relief. "You and Dad are my best men; these assholes," he says jerking his thumb in the direction of the other guys that are goofing off around the tee, "will be the groomsmen along with Claudine's brother Claude."

"Sweet baby Jesus," Rasul says in horror, "how many fucking bridesmaids are there?"

"Who gives a shit?" Maxwell counters with a negligible shrug. "The more important question is, are they hot? And equally as important, are they single?" Max gets right to the heart of the matter; Max, or as we call him "Player Player", thinks himself the ultimate ladies' man. He's a well-built guy, thanks to his job as a personal trainer, with light coffee-colored skin and bright blue eyes thanks to his mom. His hair curls so he wears it short along the neck and sides with just a hint of curl on the top. I remember one night when we were at our favorite bar for karaoke night; Max was hitting on two girls at the same time. While the one girl went to the bathroom, Max went out to the other girl's car with her. I don't know how the other girl found them, but I remember she started knocking on the car window and screaming "aww hell no!" It ended up in a catfight, with the two girls going to jail. Max was wounded during the fight; he got slapped and one of the girls scratched him with her fake nails. Would you believe that lucky mother fucker used his injuries to get one of the arrested girl's friends to take him home and play nurse? That was the night "Player Player" was born.

Alcide shrugs as we walk to the golf carts to drive down the green to find where our balls landed. "I've never really given it a lot of thought. I know when they go out in a group, guys flock to them. I actually met them because I bought her and her friends a round of drinks when it was Hadley's 21st birthday. Claudine was _very_ appreciative of the gesture," Alcide says with a wolfish grin. I grin too as I remember that night; Claudine had dragged Alcide to the bathroom to "thank" him properly. Claudine may come off as a high society gal, but she likes to get down and dirty between the sheets. I had walked in on them fucking more than once during our last two years of college, and Claudine never minded having an audience or extra participants. I can't help chuckling; those were the good old days.

"Hadley?" Tray's head wipes around as if he expects to see her standing there on the golf course. He has carried a torch for her since the day they met, but he never acted on it because she was starry-eyed for Remy, a guy that was in the fraternity with us. I know fraternities are about brotherhood, but I never liked that dick. Hadley was and still is a sweet girl that adored him and he fucked around on her all the time. When he found out she was pregnant, he hightailed it out of town and to my knowledge no one has seen him since. That was damn near four years ago. I haven't seen a lot of Hadley since we graduated, but I know she's got a little boy. Tray was heartbroken when he found out she was pregnant; he spent a weekend drunk off his ass before sobering up to try and find Remy's sorry ass and beat some sense in him. I don't know why Tray never asked her out after her kid was born, but judging by his reaction, he's still in love with her.

"Yeah, Hadley is gonna be a bridesmaid," Alcide says as he starts the golf cart with me, Tray, and Stan riding along. "Claudine is having brunch with Hadley, Tara, and Sookie right now to let them know we're getting married. I think Claudine's asking Sookie to be a maid of honor," Alcide says giving me a sideways glance.

"Fuck me sideways with a rusty screwdriver," I mutter emphatically. Of course Claudine would ask Sookie Stackhouse to be her maid of honor! Why the fuck didn't I think of that before I agreed to this shit?

_Flashback - Six Years Ago_

_"Come on Eric," Alcide pleads his case as we shoot hoops on the basketball court. It's a three-on-three matchup. I'm not that much a fan of basketball, but my height does give me an advantage. Alcide had been after me for weeks to go on a double date with him, Claudine his new girlfriend, and one of her roommates._

_"Why the fuck should I go on a date with this girl? It's not like I want a relationship. If she's friends with Claudine, she's probably a stuck up bitch." Claudine's alright, but you can tell she's used to having money. She's a freak in the bedroom, but outside of that she acts like a spoiled rich bitch. She must have a magical vag in order to keep Alcide panting after her like a dog. Actually, any hole on her body is fair game; during the threesome I had with her and Al, Claudine's favorite position was Al's dick in her mouth and my dick up her ass._

_"Her roommates aren't like her," Alcide says as he tries to get a layup past me. Of course, my giant wingspan blocks his shot and I can't help but smirk at his aggravated look._

_"But they would still be looking for a relationship," I counter as Alcide and I push against each other; he's trying to play defense and I'm trying to break away so I can get the ball. Tray lobs the ball up in the air and I break away from Alcide, pushing him down to the ground so I can slam the ball down in the basket. I hang on the rim of the basket as the ball swishes through the net. When I drop back to the ground, Alcide is slowly getting to his feet._

_"You alright?" It looks like he scrapped his arm pretty hard on the pavement; I can see the bright red drops of blood among the torn skin._

_"I'll live but I think I'm done for the day," Alcide says as he walks to the side of the court where all our bottles of water and shirts are. It's a hot day, and it doesn't hurt that the basketball courts are right next to Sorority Row. More than a few of the girls have stopped to watch the hard, sweaty male bodies on display for them. Among the group of girls sitting on the bleachers is Claudine with a petite blonde that looks like she doesn't even reach my neck. She's a bit thicker around the middle than most girls I go for but she's got the best fucking tits I've ever seen framed perfectly in a tiny red tank top. And when she stands . . . Her ass is so high and tight I bet I could bounce quarters off it. Sporting an erection in a pair of basketball shorts is not easy to hide, so I'm doing my best Austin Powers impersonation trying to think of every repugnant thing I can to will my hard on away. Claudine walks to Alcide, kissing him on the cheek, avoiding his arms when he tries to pull her closer._

_"Hey beautiful," Alcide says with a grin after he succeeds in grabbing Claudine's hips to pull her close. He puckers his lips in an exaggerated kiss and she laughingly kisses his lips quickly before pulling back._

_"Alcide, you'll get me all sweaty and I have to go to class," Claudine says as she pushes against Alcide's chest. He reluctantly lets her go and she smiles gratefully at him. "Hey Eric," she says with a wave._

_"Hey," I tell her though my eyes are staring at the blonde. She doesn't look at me though; in fact, her eyes are shifting to look everywhere but at me. What the fuck?!_

_"Eric this is Sookie, one of my roommates and my best friend. Sookie, this is Eric, Alcide's roommate." Claudine has a huge smile on her face, and she looks immensely pleased with herself. If this is the roommate that Alcide was talking about, then I am definitely changing my mind. The things I could do to her body... The things I want her to do to mine... I need to stop this train of thought before I end up touching Sookie with more than just my hand._

_"It's nice to meet you Sookie," I say as I offer my hand to her. She finally looks at me and I see that her eyes are a rich, chocolate brown color with tiny amber flecks around her pupils. Those flecks capture me completely; it's like fireflies dancing in the night._

_"It's nice to meet you too," she says with a smile and what sounds like a giggle in her voice._

_I completely forget that Claudine and Alcide are standing with us, and I don't relinquish her hand. My hand engulfs hers, and where my hand is hard and callused, her skin is smooth and soft. There is something about her drawing me in and I find myself blurting out, "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"_

_Her eyes widen in surprise and flick to look at Claudine. I don't turn to look at Claudine, but I'm sure she is encouraging her friend to say yes. Why else would Alcide be asking me to go on a double date?_

_"Sure; why not?" She smiles up at me and I cannot help smiling at her in return. As Bogey said at the end of Casablanca, 'I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.'_

Oh if I only knew then what I know now . . .


	3. Can a Girl Catch a Break

_Sookie's POV_

"Ugh, thank God that's over," I say once I am safely ensconced in my car. I have to be honest; there are times when I think no amount of money is worth it to do this job. Take today for example. I was contracted to dj a five-hour wedding at a relatively posh golf resort. It's an event I picked up last minute from my boss because he said they wanted someone low key that could play background music. Translation: it's going to be a boring event where no one dances and everyone will stare at you waiting for their chance to leave. Once the cake is cut, there will be a mass exodus of people, and the party will continue for the last hour with only about ten people in attendance, including the bride and groom.

Oh, if only it had been that simple!

Today's event was for a young Asian couple getting married. No big deal; ethnicity doesn't matter to me nor does gender. In fact, I love doing the lesbian weddings! They are tons of fun! But I digress; today's event was unlike anything I've ever experienced before. The bride spoke no English, and the groom spoke limited English. My liaison was the groom's sister. OK, weird, but I've had other couples that wanted me to interact with someone other than themselves. The couple barely looked at each other during the entire reception, and I think they only spoke to each other when they had to. Turns out, today was only the third meeting between the bride and groom. Their parents had arranged their marriage.

This is the twenty-first century! Do people still do that?!

_AN: If you want to read the rest of this story, it has been moved to my personal blog due to mature content that will be featured later in the story. Check out my profile for the link. Thank you. I'm sorry to do this, but I'm not dealing with people that can't handle a little spice._


End file.
